


Far Away Places

by NicoleAnell



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-17
Updated: 2012-06-17
Packaged: 2017-11-08 00:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/436895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleAnell/pseuds/NicoleAnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for bsg-kink, "vagina euphemism" challenge. Prompt was 'basement' and taken in a surprisingly non-cracky direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Far Away Places

The cell door opening doesn't wake her, only makes her shift and grimace in her cot, but her eyes pop open when he puts his hand on her cheek. He ought to be ashamed of the wild, frightened look in her eyes, just that second, but it softens so quickly into calm, easy affection, an almost-smile. An inhumanly kind murmur of "Saul" as she returns the gesture.   
  
"Were you all right?" his voice is more confusion than concern, the faint layer of sweat and her deep breaths. She tells him, "I was dreaming." This happened before: she dreams of Hera, the Five ( _no_ , he'd struggled not to cut her off, to maintain a silent tremor in his jaw), or sometimes of the bombs, of dying (he did cut her off that time, he said  _turn over_  with an unintended bluntness, kissed her not-quite-right shade of blonde hair throughout that night while she gripped one of his hands under her pulsing heart).   
  
He told her his dreams once, his lack of sleep in the off-duty mornings. He shouldn't have done that. Like her moaning "Saul" at him all the time now, even before and after -- he should've stopped that when it started, whenever it was she got so familiar with him. But then he would've had to stop all of it (he should have, gods damn it) because what else would this thing say? To be called "Colonel" with her riding his cock would be wrong, illusion-killing. Some other name, some  _number_ , he couldn't manage that. She called him "Saul" and he called her nothing. She seemed used to that.   
  
He doesn't have a name for any part of her. She's not Ellen, the sameness and even his own desperation are slowly balanced out by differences -- the smoothness of her hands, the loneliness in her face. She's not metal either, wires and latches, synthetic limbs that wrap around him undeservedly. He thinks of her as a place, a building in a city in a world he can't remember. They are imperfect homes for each other, out of the ruins. There, a window catching rain. There, patiently traveling up a stairway, fumbling with a lock. There, he enters her basement, a place of darkness and secrets, and takes shelter there.


End file.
